What more could a man ask for?
by River's Dream
Summary: Just some reflections in the infirmary by John after a failed mission and noticing Beckett's increasing concern for his well being. First story ever, some potentially upsetting topics later but nothing graphic I think.


Disclaimer * I do not own anything to do with Stargate aside from my DVD and my love of this world. It all belongs to the powers that be. Also this is my first fanfic and first non poetry or academic piece since grade six, please have mercy :)

White Walls? Muted Voices? An electronic Symphony?

Oh joy, the infirmary again . . . Hmmm, wonder what I did this time?

My "holidays" in the infirmary have become a regularly scheduled event these past few years and not that I hate Carson or anything (even if the man does have a sadistic streak, I swear he gets downright gleeful some days, especially when shots are involved, damn needles) but seriously this is a status quo I could do without.

Speaking of status quos, those muted voices that always seem to be around when I have the pleasure of coming to (speaking of which where are Carson's good drugs I usually feel them by now? Did I honestly just think that, I **must** have had an interesting day) there's a tone to them that's becoming a new status quo and one, to be perfectly honest, I'm not completely happy to find that particular tone centering on me yet again.

In the old days after returning to this wonderful land of the living, the voices were to be expected and maybe, if I'm being perfectly honest and seeing as this is my head why not, maybe just maybe the voices were becoming welcome. I knew that if I had managed to land myself a few days vacation under Beckett's tender loving care (I know you mean well but can we say over-protective, sadistic mother hen? I mean come on) that there would always be constants to let me know I was back. There would be Rodney's continual complaining, teasing, eating, and tinkering all the while worried about what I had managed to do to myself this time and talking about what a hassle it is to continual have to think up new ways to save my neck. I had come to expect Teyla's quiet presence that would always offer comfort, singing songs from her childhood when she thought no one was listening (she has such a pretty voice), and whispering assurances. I could count on Ford to eagerly keep me up-to-date on all the day-to-day adventures I was currently missing and later I knew there would be find comforting familiarity in Ronan's teasing of McKay or occasional grunted responses. The voices meant I was safe, I was with my team, and all would soon be, well, as normal as you ever get in this galaxy.

These voices are different though, these voices are furtive, worried. Beckett and Weir, they're worried about the number of "unacceptable risks" I've been taking lately, the number of times I've returned through the gate injured, unconscious, and I believe last time I heard "in need of a bloody miracle to survive" (love you too Carson). They concerned that I've become suicidal faced with buried pain from the past and the ever-growing stress of being a military commander in another galaxy facing a war that technically I started (actually now that I think about that does sound rather disturbing but that doesn't let you off the hook Carson or you Elizabeth!) Rodney, being ever so helpful, (seriously whose side are you own McKay) has actual compiled a list of missions that went south and a mission-to-injury ratio for them (which admittedly may be a little on the high side but it's nothing to worry about, I know what I'm doing).

Now I realise I'm not exactly Mr. Open or anything, there's a tactical advantage to playing things close to the chest so to speak and that's a lesson I learned young and I learned well. The funny thing is, in this case, I'm not trying to hide behind an indestructible flyboy mask or brush things off I'm expressing myself in the only way I know how and they just aren't looking in the right place.

Growing up, the first thing you learned as a Sheppard was the importance of duty this was followed closely by the importance of appearances. A Sheppard never forgot his duty and never showed weakness (or as dear ol' dad called it emotions). This became a creed drilled into David and my heads growing up. Dad was never physically abusive or nothing when you broke the rules but he made his displeasure known in other ways and for a long time, maybe that's part of why I do so well with mental games, practice.

Mom was a completely different story and saved me many times during those years running interference. She married young and for love (still don't quite grasp it but I respect mom enough to take her word for it) and I swear she loved him til the end, loved us boys too. Mom was our heart and soul. I'm sure that women would have been amazing in the military, her tactical mind balancing the opposing factions that were the Sheppard men but she was too free-spirited, a maverick. Dad always said I took after her, I'm not sure how he meant it but I think of it as a good thing.

Turns out that kind of environment isn't all that healthy though, all work and only glimpses of play, seconds to relax and be a kid, always burying what you truly felt unless it was "family appropriate". Funny thing is stuffing all your emotions in like that they kind of come out all weird, usually at the same time, and usually in the most inconvenient of circumstances.

I realised early on that even with mom's help providing those brief sweet releases: our trips to the park, going to the airfield to watch the planes, even our walks to school it wasn't enough growing up in that environment. The extra emotions had to, inevitably, go somewhere and letting it out in front of dad was a mistake even a child would only make once. That's when I discovered my own creeds fight for what you believe and never leave a man behind.

I was eight the first time I got into a fight at school. The 5th grade bullies were picking on this kid, you know the type, think Rodney miniaturized and so tiny I swear he was going to blow away. He'd been picked on all year, I saw him one morning crying of all things to his mom, he wanted to be anywhere but at school and I figured it just wasn't right. I ended up with a black eye, a sprained ankle, and a dislocated shoulder before the teacher's broke it up during morning recess, but they never bothered the kid again. It was amazing. I was grounded and got a lecture (hard to hide when your mom's called in to take you to the hospital) but all of a sudden I was doing something I had a purpose even if it was only to deflect another kids punches. Best of all my anger was replaced by a sense of purpose and purpose made me feel like I belonged even if only on the sidelines. It felt so good and come to think of it may have started a bit of a trend in my life.

But everything in that house seemed to have strings attached and turns out getting into fights at school every other week was just about as welcome in the Sheppard household as breaking one of the cardinal rules, even if I was winning more fights than I lost (wouldn't that be a nice change of pace in Atlantis). The summer I was twelve, I walked out of school in June and found myself grounded until August, only family contact, no outdoors, and dad breathing down my neck, every time he was home, which thankfully wasn't often. Mom did manage to negotiate one concession from dad though I was able to keep exercising in the garage (which I figured was good cause when you got into as many scraps as I did being out of shape was kinda dangerous). I worked out every day but my favourite thing was this old punching bag. I would thrash on it every night until my hands bled. You can still see the scars if you look close enough, though matching any of my scars to distinct events would be a challenge for anybody but me and possibly Carson at this point, hmm maybe I do spend too much time "enjoying" his hospitality.

To my surprise, it turned out that self-inflicted pain was just as effective as the pain I received in those fights for getting rid of my anger. That summer I learned that if I got mad all it took was a round at the bag, a slice from a knife and I was good for another evening of my hellish summer. The only thing is that hurting myself whether it was punching that bag, or using the knife from my model kits, while it may have got rid of the pain just the same in the moment it happened it was a far more insidious way to release. Instead of that feeling of making a difference that sticking up for the little guy and the pride I had at "belonging" and standing up for my own beliefs even against my father's or my teacher's wished, hurting myself only brought shame, guilt, disgust which made you want to hurt more, and for longer. I fell into that cycle so quickly I didn't realise how far I had fallen until I crashed.

See Carson it was high school when you should have worried (not that you could have, we hadn't met yet, maybe I am on the good drugs?) High school was when it got really bad. I couldn't fight anymore dad made that abundantly clear with threats of military school (how ironic is that). I felt alone, isolated, abandoned; there was nowhere I belonged and no one who really knew me. Argh, I hate cliques.

In high school I was too smart to fit in with the jocks (Rodney would have a fit if he found out just how smart I am but honestly it's more fun tormenting him with the playing dumb act and it's safer when people underestimate you) and I was to jock to fit in with the nerds. It was in high school that I created that John you know: the John who always has a retort, the John laughs in the face of an enemy (or unrespectable authority), the John who pushes on even when he's dead on his feet, discouraged at the world, and out of hope but still smiles confidently (okay you may argue it's more cocky but I like confident better and it's my inner dialogue so there) and reassures everyone around me. Ironically Carson, that's the John who tried to take his own life.

It happened just after mom died 2 week after I turned 16, man I missed her, still do but then it was losing my only friend, my confident, my protector all in one. The doctors say she never felt anything, the cops say she probably never saw the drunk driver that t-boned her car. It was after the funeral and I was in the back yard watching the planed fly to the airfield remembering mom and umm crying. Dad caught me and forcefully reminded me that Sheppard's don't cry, especially at funerals, something about appearance, stiff upper lip, I don't know. I snapped at him and I mean snapped fists flew, words were exchanged, I think that was the most honest conversation I had with the man in my entire childhood, heck probably entire life. When we were done I ran by him and retreated to my room. The knife was just sitting there, I had brought it up when I had been working on a new model plane just before the accident. In one swoop I slit my wrist and was mesmerised. It was different than when I had hurt myself. This time the purpose was different I just wanted peace, I wanted escape, not release and calm. I watched myself bleed forgetting to make any additional cuts. When after awhile my dad barged in to start round two.

I've never seen a man stop so suddenly as my dad did that day he froze at the site, I don't quite remember what happened next but my next clear memory was waking up in the hospital and my father telling me I was going to see a shrink and this incident would disappear. I'll say this for the man he was thorough there's not even a notation in my file guess you really can buy almost anything.

After I was declared sane and released David came to pick me up, dad never spoke to me much after that event except to yell at me after the war oh and when I split with Nancy but that's off topic (man I must be on the good drugs, thanks Carson). David looked at me, silently, appraising. I was so nervous about going back facing everyone, small towns aren't exactly great for secrets of this nature. Without a word David slid one of his black wristbands off his wrists and gave it to me. Said I needed to accessorize better, and beside we're brother it'd be cool to share something other than genes.

Then came the military, well we all know what happened there thanks to Rodney's little hacking adventure there don't we and I'm getting sleepy with all this thinking so let's just skip that for now shall we.

So how can the guy who's made a life of fighting for the little guy at the expense of self, who has taken out his pain in ever unhealthy way you could imagine, who hides behind walls so thick the difference between man and mask has turned muddy grey, and who didn't know the meaning of a healthy relationship for the first three decades of his life say that you're overreacting and worrying over nothing?

Because Carson you're forgetting the most important part . . . Atlantis

Originally I came to Atlantics because of a stupid gene that I got from who knows who and for who knows what reason. I came to run away from a family that I only had in name and had managed only to embarrass, a career that was failing due to creative differences in interpretation, and a slew of broken relationships because apparently I can communicate more through a silent round of golf than an intentional conversation (or so says Nancy).

But Atlantis had other plans, Atlantis was a catalyst that forced me to examine my life and guess what I found Doc?

I found Rodney: a scientist, nuisance, whiner, and best friend/brother all rolled into one. Rodney gets me to relax by giving me a place to be snarky, to give as good as I get. Rodney lets me feel challenged as I get to use my head. With Rodney, I can just be Sheppard, no appearances, no duty. Rodney is the brother I wish I had in David.

Ford was like a little brother. Ford taught me how to teach, how to be patient, how to share (I can't believe how green that kid was when we met, I'm sorry things went how they did Aiden you deserved better).

Ronan is my fellow warrior, my brother in arms. He's been to hell and back. I know if the past gets to close and I just need to sit he's will let me sit and the spend an hour sparring with me in the gym. With Ronan I've found a place that doesn't need excuses, heck doesn't need words. Ronan gives me a place where my past and my secrets don't make me a monster but a merely a soldier doing his, hopefully, best.

Elizabeth keeps me humble, it's my job to protect her but I still know not to underestimate her strength. She's got beauty and brains. She reminds me of my mom, she takes care of all of us so well, and she loves and leads this expedition with grace. In many ways Elizabeth is our heart because she forces us to remember the human element to our mission.

Carson, you, well you're like that uncle, I can't say you're really dad cause well I don't really understand those very well. You harp constantly, nag incessantly but everyone knows deep down (sometime really, really deep down depending on how long we've been under house arrest ) that its only because it would kill a piece of you to lose any of us. We fight the wraith to protect our loved ones but you fight death herself, I don't envy you my friend

Teyla's become my moral compass, a force of compassion, soul, and complete kicker of my butt. She keeps me level in this messed up galaxy, she make coming home worthwhile, she makes home, well, home (Hold it John, this is dangerous territory)

You see Carson, yeah my injury ratio may be high, my suicide missions (and seriously can we actually call them that if I come home alive? Wait never mind there is no way in this galaxy I'm willingly letting anyone within earshot naming anything! Can we say gate ship? Come on the best and the brightest and you guys come up with gate ship!) Anyway to get back on track you're missing the point. Everything I do is to bring my family home, keep my family safe. My family to our home.

For the first time I have a place I belong, people I care about and who for some weird reason care about me, the real me not some fake image and I will do whatever it takes to protect my own. For the first time in my life I have something worth living for and it's a hundred times better than duty or appearances, it's love. Carson seriously why do you think you find me broken not dead. Heck, I'll even make nice with a wraith if it'll being me safely back, there's too much to live for. You just need to look at the whole picture Carson, the whole picture.

Carson worried looked over the charts of his most regular patient yet again. Sheppard really did spend far too much time in the infirmary and as of late both he and Elizabeth had been concerned for the Colonel's mental health. The man was just too damn self-sacrificing, didn't he realise what he had to live for, how valuable and loved he was. These late nights were starting to get to him.

Carson looked over at the Colonel's bed again, his vitals were hinting that the Colonel may be preparing to re-enter the land of the living. Carson smiled as he surveyed the team. Lying next to the Colonel's bed was Teyla fast asleep on her arms with one hand gently holding onto Sheppard's, Rodney lay curled up one bed over where he had crashed after a late night snack, and Ronon sat lightly dozing at the end of Sheppard's bed ready to wake at the slightest hint of change, in fact Carson wouldn't be surprised if the Satedan was awake even now as Sheppard began to stir slightly.

"Colonel? Colonel are you awake son?" Carson asked quickly manoeuvring around the sleeping team and checking the Colonel's vitals in one fluid movement.

" Hey, Doc" rasped a quiet Colonel

"Colonel, I'm afraid you ran into a wee bit of trouble, had us all right worried for awhile. Can you tell me where you are and how you're doing?"

"I'm fin . . ."

Carson quickly interrupted with a kind but pointed glare "None of that 'I'm fine' nonsense Colonel, I want the truth"

"Carson" Sheppard answered strength returning to his voice

"Yes, lad?"

"My team is safe, the city is safe, I'm safe and I'm home it's not perfect but what more could I want?"

Carson stopped and looked at Sheppard sitting pale, surrounded by his team, no by his family Carson realised, already regaining his strength and mischievous sparkle. Looking into his eyes Carson was struck not to see the haggard stress or internal battle he was accustomed to seeing in Atlantis' senior staff after a mission gone wrong. Instead, Carson saw only a look of peace and belonging that showed a man totally at peace with where he was, a man who indeed was home and not with his mere team but with his family. Carson smiled softly to himself, the caution for the seemingly younger man still ever present but the worry for his safety quietly washing away.

"Aye lad, what more could a man ask for, sleep well Colonel" replied Carson as he turned and made to leave for a well deserved rest.

"John" the quiet voice interrupted once more into the stillness of the infirmary.

"What was that lad?" questioned Carson not quite understanding

"My friends call me John" answered Sheppard quietly smiling as he fell back to sleep.

"Sleep well John."


End file.
